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| The sun coming through the roof of the Papaya Playa bar |
Sunday was a big day for wannabe divemaster Baker, as I was my turn to organise, prepare, brief and lead two dives with real customers. It's a lot more complicated than I had imagined. In the morning we took four divers to Casa Cenote, a nice calm pool, about ten minutes north of here, that has a big area where you can help people practise their diving skills (it's about two metres deep, with a flat, sandy floor you can kneel on). Then you get a nice half-hour dive with no scary caverns. Casa Cenote is where we take all the divers for their first dive if they haven't been diving for a while and if the sea at Papaya Playa is choppy.
Casa Cenote is about 20 metres from the sea and you get both fresh- and saltwater marine life there. My favourite are big shiny sea fish, about 50cm long, that are covered in silver scales and glisten as they swim past you in packs of three or four. I'm not sure what they are called (learning the fish-identification chart is still to come) and I'm not sure if Tullio does either, but I will look them up. [In fact, whether it's swimming past them underwater or eating them off the grill, I always find fish names a problem abroad. But, now I think of it, I don't think I could identify fish at the fishmongers in Britain either.]
There's a lot to do when you manage a dive and the idea is that you exude a calm confidence that the other divers can draw upon. I probably managed that most of the time on land and about half of the time we were underwater. Luckily they knew I was in training, were very indulgent (at least to my face) and didn't ask for their money back.
First up, you have to get everyone to sign various disclaimers and health-check forms that, to be honest, are pretty badly photocopied and seem to be printed in 4pt. When the divemaster has to get his reading glasses out to explain something on them, you know it's not Daniel Craig who is going to be leading you underwater. Then there's all the equipment: air tanks, BCDs (the inflatable jackets that keep you buoyant), weights (that keep you down), wetsuits (that have to be the right size and have short or long legs according to the customer's preference), masks and fins (ditto about size). Then there's towels, water, oxygen (in case of an emergency), money to get into the cenote, sandwiches, your dive computer, your own equipment (which in my case is a collection of the random sizes left over when the customers have got theirs), and almost certainly something else that proves crucial only when you realise you have forgotten it.
Once that's sorted, you get in the car and give everyone the briefing: where we are going, what we are going to do, how we are going to communicate underwater etc etc. (I was quite good at this bit.) At the site, you scramble for a free bench to put all your stuff on while the customers admire the azure-blue water. Then you help them assemble everything, reiterate the briefing and everyone gets in the water, bobbing around on the surface until we are all ready to descend.
At this point everyone spends about a minute spitting noisily into their masks trying to clean them. For some reason no mask I have every worn diving hasn't (A) steamed up in various parts and (B) leaked water. (B) is because I have a moustache (vaseline is the answer apparently). (A) is something to do with the silicone seal over the lens and/or people using sun cream. No one seems to have invented a good defogger, or, if they have, it's toxic to fish or hurts your eyes or something else useless. The trick, apparently, is to buy your own mask and not let anyone else use it, but in the meantime, everyone, just before they dive, gobs into their mask, rubs their finger around the inside in a squeaky back-and-forth movement, dunks it quickly in the water, and puts it on, hoping for the best. My mask usually starts steaming up and/or leaking about five seconds later.
On Sunday, the fours divers hadn't been diving for a while, so we practised three important underwater skills:
• how to relocate your air supply if it comes out of your mouth
• how to clear water out of your mask
• how to share your second air supply (the yellow one, called, oddly, the "octopus") if your buddy runs out of air.
These are three of the mimes I have been practising. The divers kneel in front of you and you demonstrate each one in turn – slowly, clearly, with total confidence etc etc – and they repeat it to your satisfaction. There's an art to this and I haven't totally got it yet. I knelt a bit far away from the divers, like a teacher in a classroom, and as a result had to squint like an underwater Mr Magoo to see if they had really got the water out of their masks. I was also a little underweighted (or, Diving 201, breathing a bit hard, which inflates your lungs more and makes you more buoyant) and so I did the whole thing bobbing up and down about 2cm off the cenote floor, which is weird and strangely disorienting. Luckily they were pretty good and so soon we could set off on the dive.
The other day I discovered, with Tullio in the sea, how strange is was to be at the front of a dive, and this dive started with a fairly strong current against us. My automatic response was the start kicking hard and apparently I just shot off, leaving everyone behind. (I thought I was barely moving at all.) Two things were going on in my head: that the current was so strong that we were not going anywhere, and that I was actually leading them in totally the wrong direction. I only realised what was happening when I felt Tullio's hand grab my ankle and saw his eyes, like saucers, glaring at me through his mask. I looked back and found my customers about 25 metres behind, struggling to keep up. Diving is slow and calm and I had turned it into a an Olympic sprint. After that, we slowed down and had a nice dive but I learnt a lot about how I speed up when I have too much to think about. Luckily the cenote is so beautiful that everyone forgives you things like that, but I need to write the word "Slow" on the inside of my mask. Maybe that's what I could use the steaming up for.
The second dive was easier in the water but, dumbly, I had forgotten to pack two wetsuits. They were drying from the first dive and I forgot to put them in the car. We managed to borrow one from someone there but I had to dive in my shorts, which was chilly. Wetsuits also make you more buoyant and, as I was also carrying extra weights in my pocket (in case any customers need them), I spent most of that dive bumping along the cenote floor and getting cold. Oh, and my regulator (air source) had a hole in it, so I had to do the whole dive using my emergency mouthpiece. As Tullio put it afterwards, I will never forget to check the equipment again.
In the evening we went to our favourite fish restaurant El Camello ("the camel") – plastic tables, weird desert-themed pictures on the wall (no one knows why), unbelievably fresh fish (it's owned by fishermen) and very cheap. The portions are nonsensically huge and the ceviche is the best I have eaten since Lima.
I am almost done with the training. Still to go are various mapping and search skills, knots, and my 24 underwater mimes, and I have to watch an (apparently agonisingly saccharine) PADI video about the joys and responsibilities of being a divemaster. I also have to do what's called a stress test: exchanging all your equipment, including mask and fins, with your instructor while the two of you share a single air source. We have started to practise this. It's actually quite good fun, if difficult. But, all being well, I should be a divemaster by the end of this week. After that, like a newly qualified driver, it's all a matter of practice.
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| Casa Cenote |
There's a lot to do when you manage a dive and the idea is that you exude a calm confidence that the other divers can draw upon. I probably managed that most of the time on land and about half of the time we were underwater. Luckily they knew I was in training, were very indulgent (at least to my face) and didn't ask for their money back.
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| Safety Sausage?? |
Once that's sorted, you get in the car and give everyone the briefing: where we are going, what we are going to do, how we are going to communicate underwater etc etc. (I was quite good at this bit.) At the site, you scramble for a free bench to put all your stuff on while the customers admire the azure-blue water. Then you help them assemble everything, reiterate the briefing and everyone gets in the water, bobbing around on the surface until we are all ready to descend.
At this point everyone spends about a minute spitting noisily into their masks trying to clean them. For some reason no mask I have every worn diving hasn't (A) steamed up in various parts and (B) leaked water. (B) is because I have a moustache (vaseline is the answer apparently). (A) is something to do with the silicone seal over the lens and/or people using sun cream. No one seems to have invented a good defogger, or, if they have, it's toxic to fish or hurts your eyes or something else useless. The trick, apparently, is to buy your own mask and not let anyone else use it, but in the meantime, everyone, just before they dive, gobs into their mask, rubs their finger around the inside in a squeaky back-and-forth movement, dunks it quickly in the water, and puts it on, hoping for the best. My mask usually starts steaming up and/or leaking about five seconds later.
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| Underwater at Casa Cenote. Those are mangrove roots coming down from the surface |
• how to relocate your air supply if it comes out of your mouth
• how to clear water out of your mask
• how to share your second air supply (the yellow one, called, oddly, the "octopus") if your buddy runs out of air.
These are three of the mimes I have been practising. The divers kneel in front of you and you demonstrate each one in turn – slowly, clearly, with total confidence etc etc – and they repeat it to your satisfaction. There's an art to this and I haven't totally got it yet. I knelt a bit far away from the divers, like a teacher in a classroom, and as a result had to squint like an underwater Mr Magoo to see if they had really got the water out of their masks. I was also a little underweighted (or, Diving 201, breathing a bit hard, which inflates your lungs more and makes you more buoyant) and so I did the whole thing bobbing up and down about 2cm off the cenote floor, which is weird and strangely disorienting. Luckily they were pretty good and so soon we could set off on the dive.
The other day I discovered, with Tullio in the sea, how strange is was to be at the front of a dive, and this dive started with a fairly strong current against us. My automatic response was the start kicking hard and apparently I just shot off, leaving everyone behind. (I thought I was barely moving at all.) Two things were going on in my head: that the current was so strong that we were not going anywhere, and that I was actually leading them in totally the wrong direction. I only realised what was happening when I felt Tullio's hand grab my ankle and saw his eyes, like saucers, glaring at me through his mask. I looked back and found my customers about 25 metres behind, struggling to keep up. Diving is slow and calm and I had turned it into a an Olympic sprint. After that, we slowed down and had a nice dive but I learnt a lot about how I speed up when I have too much to think about. Luckily the cenote is so beautiful that everyone forgives you things like that, but I need to write the word "Slow" on the inside of my mask. Maybe that's what I could use the steaming up for.
The second dive was easier in the water but, dumbly, I had forgotten to pack two wetsuits. They were drying from the first dive and I forgot to put them in the car. We managed to borrow one from someone there but I had to dive in my shorts, which was chilly. Wetsuits also make you more buoyant and, as I was also carrying extra weights in my pocket (in case any customers need them), I spent most of that dive bumping along the cenote floor and getting cold. Oh, and my regulator (air source) had a hole in it, so I had to do the whole dive using my emergency mouthpiece. As Tullio put it afterwards, I will never forget to check the equipment again.
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| El Camello and a very welcome margarita |
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| The rabbit comes up the hole, round the tree and down the hole again - if you're lucky |
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Ola David, enjoying your blog. To avoid diving blind, try gently rubbing toothpaste (not gel and avoid mint) on to the lens, then rinse with fresh water. It worked for me but I always like gobbing in to mask as it looks as if I know what I'm doing and strangely cool. Never dived with a safety sausage - does it float and flash? Please explain.
ReplyDeleteLesley
Yes. I have heard of the toothpaste option (and, weirdly, Coca-Cola). People are divided about how (un)cool it is compared with macho spitting - and you're not meant to take the tube actually into the cenotes - but I'm going to give it a go.
DeleteOh, and safety sausage? I've never heard of it either. I think it's a kind of inflatable buoy that you let rise to the surface and which warns boats that there are divers below. We have one but it has a hole in it so, when we gave it a go, it peeked out above the waves and fell flat on its face.
Delete